A year in the Life
by Wiccagirl24
Summary: It was a year in which everything would change. BrassCath, GSR. WIP My apologies this story is only two chapters and I have no plans to update it.
1. Chapter 1

Pairing: Minor Brass/Cath and GSR for now, more to come

Spoilers: Nothing in this chapter, eventually all of season 6

Disclaimer: Only the headless man belongs to me. And the bottle of water

Author's Notes: This story started as a challenge from goddessloki. The challenge was basically that just when Catherine decides that she is not dating anymore (to find out why, wait for chapter 2), Brass decides to ask her out. As I was working on this fic the season finale brought up the "When did Sara and Grissom" question. I decided to play with that too. So here we go. Much thanks and virtual chocolate cookies to smacky30 for the amazingly fast beta'ing.

II

The sun beat down on the back of his neck, and he was sure that the sunscreen he had slathered on earlier was no match for the sun's rays. He would be sore later. Now he was just uncomfortable. He had taken off his jacket an hour ago and thrown it onto the passenger seat of his car. The top button of his shirt was undone and his sleeves were rolled up. There was nothing else he could do to combat the arid heat of the Nevada desert.

"Water, Jim?" The relieving coolness of an icy water bottle was pressed into his hands. Beads of water collected on the outside, mixing with his sweat, and helping to cool his skin. Unscrewing the top, he took a long gulp.

"Thanks," he said as he grinned at Catherine. If there was one thing he liked about working on the desert after the sun came up, it was when he was lucky enough to work a case with her. High temperatures meant tank tops to the female CSI, and he heartily approved.

"No problem. You looked like you needed it." She had seen him tugging on the collar of his shirt, and figured they could both use a breather. Their jobs were never easy, but some cases took more out of you then others did.

"That I did." Splashing the water into his cupped hand, Brass washed away the sweat collected on his neck. "So where are we?"

"Just about done here. David's loading up the body to take to the morgue."

"The head too, I hope," Brass joked. A wire strung across the dirt path at just the right height meant that a joy ride for their victim had led to a rather messy end. Catherine ignored him and continued speaking.

"Sara just left with the dirt bike and the other evidence we collected, including the clothes line. Chances of getting prints from it are pretty slim, though."

"Guess that means I'll have to actually do some work, then. Too bad. I like it when you CSI's have all the answers," he remarked wryly. Turning away from the crime scene, Brass scanned the row of houses that backed up to the desert. "I'll bet you money that the person we are looking for is in one of those homes."

"Figured the case out already?" Catherine teased as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Just a hunch." Setting his water bottle down on the back of a police car, Brass rested his hand briefly against his service weapon.

"You know what Grissom would say about playing hunches."

"Lucky for us Grissom isn't here. You want to go for a walk with me?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask." Leaving the crime scene behind, they started their search for a suspect.

II

Hearing the sound of the radio coming from the garage, Grissom stopped in the open doorway. The cavernous space was almost empty except for a dirt bike. Catherine's case, he assumed. Single victim, motor vehicle fatality, suspicious circs. He had paired her and Sara together when he had handed out assignments earlier that night. Though the team had been back together for almost a month, this was the first time the two of them had worked a case with each other and no other team member. He hadn't noticed the fact until Greg had made a joke about it during the last shift. Without a comment he had teamed them together for this case. He was tempted to make his presence known and ask about the case. He didn't want to appear to be checking up on them, however.

"Son of a..." Grissom was about to turn and leave the room when he heard the muttered exclamation.

"Sara? Are you okay?" Striding into the room, he stopped just behind the bike.

"I'm fine." Scooting out from under the bike, her hand wrapped around the opposite forearm belied her answer.

"What happened?" he asked as he took a step towards her and reached for her arm.

"It's nothing. A scratch from a piece of metal on the undercarriage." Turning away, Sara walked to the sink in the corner of the room.

"That's more then a scratch," Grissom commented when she turned on the water and moved her hand. Droplets of blood welled up on the skin in a narrow line. Pulling the lever on the paper towel dispenser, Grissom handed her half a dozen sheets.

"Thanks." Sara accepted the offering and dabbed at the cuts. Each time she wiped away the blood, more pooled up. "Damn it. This is not my day."

"Why?" Grissom opened the cabinet above the sink and withdrew a first aid kit. Taking out a bottle of antiseptic, he gestured at Sara to hold out her arm.

"Besides the fact that I woke up today to find that my water heater was broken and I had to take a cold shower?" The apartment manager promised to have the problem fixed today. She hoped he came through, because she really wanted to go home and take a hot bath after shift. "I have yet to find a single piece of evidence to tell me who killed the vic."

"Nothing?" After applying the antiseptic, Grissom carefully taped a rectangle of gauze to Sara's skin.

"All I have is a piece of clothes line that could have been purchased anywhere, fingerprint free. I hope Brass and Catherine are having better luck."

"I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it. Thomas Jefferson." Repacking the kit, Grissom placed it back on its shelf. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"A couple of months ago," Sara answered, keeping her response vague. It had been last spring, after the case at Desert Spring. Not a subject she wanted to bring up.

"Good. Good," he repeated, giving himself a moment to work up his courage. "Sara, I was wondering if..."

A phone rang, and Grissom sighed at the irony of timing.

"It's mine," Sara said as she picked up her cell phone with her uninjured arm. "Sidle. Really? That's great."

Smiling, she closed her phone.

"Catherine and Brass have a suspect. They're bringing him in now. I'm going to go see if the evidence they collected is any more useful then what we already have."

"Good luck," he offered as Sara walked out of the garage.

II

"We've got you, Mr. Tyler," Brass stated as he leaned on the table and smirked at the suspect across from him. "A piece of advice; when you commit murder, it's never smart to leave the blueprint of how you did it setting on the kitchen table. See, there's this wonderful rule about incriminating evidence left in plain sight. Good for me but bad for stupid criminals like you."

"I'm not saying anything until I get a lawyer." Arms crossed, their suspect looked nervously around the room as if a lawyer was hiding in the corner.

"Well that's downright unfriendly, don't you think Cath?" Brass leaned his head on one hand and turned to the blond CSI seated next to him

"We don't really need him. The evidence is enough to convict him." Catherine tried to act blasé, but she felt sick to her stomach. This man had decapitated another human

being, and showed no sign of remorse.

"You're right, we don't need him. We know what happened, and how he did it. There is one thing that I'm curious about, though."

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats." Mr. Tyler sneered.

"Oh, we've got a real comedian this time," Brass remarked.

"He's hilarious," Catherine said flatly.

"To get back to what I was saying before Carrot Top interrupted; what I want to know is why. What did Cooper Addison do to you that was so horrible?"

"Who?" Tyler blurted out before he forcefully pressed his lips together.

"The man you killed," Catherine interjected. "The man whose ride on a dirt bike ended when he drove between the two trees you had tied clothes line between. A good strong line. It did the job very effectively. Would you like to see?"

Opening up the manila folder in front of her, Catherine withdrew a pair of photos

and held them up at eye level. A body without a head and a head without a body. Tyler blanched, and immediately turned away.

"A little different than the stickman you drew on the pad of paper when you came up with the plan." The man's mouth was still closed, but Brass suspected it was more to keep from throwing up than anything. It was one thing to tie a couple of knots, quite another to see the result of your work.

"They make too much noise," Tyler finally muttered after a dozen deep breaths. "The bikes. They ride at all hours, late at night, early in the morning. They don't care. I just wanted to make them stop. It was a lesson."

"A lesson?" Catherine spat out.

"For all the dirt bikers. After this, I'll finally get peace and quiet."

"You might get quiet, but I wouldn't count on the peace." Opening the door, Brass motioned for a uniformed officer to take Mr. Tyler to booking. Catherine walked out of the room, shaking her head in disgust.

II

"Sara, wait." She was half a dozen steps outside the building when Grissom called out to her. She turned and looked at him expectantly.

"Did I forget something?"

"No, I did." Grissom shook his head. That wasn't right. "Or rather, I wanted to ask you something."

An entire minute of silence passed after his declaration. Sara remained silent, giving him a chance to talk, but finally she had to speak.

"If you want me to answer your question you have to ask it first." She mentally braced herself. Knowing Grissom as she did, he could ask how her arm was, the status of her case or for her help in an experiment. She was never sure with him.

"There is a traveling exhibit coming to Vegas next week. Painters of the Renaissance. I was wondering... that is, I thought you might like it."

"Sound interesting. I'll check it out on the web when I get home."

"That's not quiet what I meant." There had been so many miscommunications between them. Grissom was determined this would not be another one. "I have two tickets for next Friday. Would you go with me?"

"What?" Was she dreaming?

"I was thinking we could go out for dinner beforehand."

"I don't know." An invitation to dinner. How long had she been waiting for this moment? A year ago she would have said yes without thinking, and it would have been wrong. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"Will you think about it?" he asked softly.

"I will," she promised. It was probably all she would think about today, Sara mused as she walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She didn't think anything could make her more nauseous then the sight of a bucket full of saliva. She was wrong. A car trunk full of liquefied human trumped saliva any day. If she wasn't already a vegetarian, she would have become one about two seconds after Grissom's "crackpot" analogy.

"Well, if that's where she was shot, there might be bullets and casings. I say we process the car in place. Let's get rolling." Sophia stated. Sara wondered if she realized that she spoke more like the CSI she had been than the detective she was now.

"Area is uncontrolled," Sara disagreed. "We need to get this back to the lab."

"Car condom." Grissom said with a smirk. Sophia looked confused at his seemingly nonsense comment. Sara grinned, knowing that he agreed with her analysis of the situation.

"I'll get the plastic wrap." As she opened the trunk of the SUV to retrieve a large roll of plastic, Grissom knelt down on the pavement to get a look at the underside of the car.

"What, exactly, is a car condom? I've never heard the term before." Sophia asked.

"Did you ever play any pranks as a teenager?" Grissom asked in return. Brushing his hands together to get rid of the small rocks that clung to them, he stood up.

"I might have TP'd a house or two," Sophia admitted.

"The idea of the car condom came from another common prank. We wrap the car in layers of plastic wrap. It makes a nice tight seal, and nothing gets through until we cut it off at the lab."

"My brother did that once, but he and his friends added a layer of honey as they wrapped up my neighbors car. He was grounded for weeks when my parents found out." Sara handed the roll of plastic to Grissom and began sealing the doors with bright orange stickers. Grissom watched her carefully, and wondered if he should respond, or leave her casual reference alone. It was the first time he ever remembered her voluntarily mentioning a member of her family. If it had been him in her place, he wouldn't want any questions, and decided only to focus on the task.

"Ready?" Finding the end of the plastic, he held it tightly in on hand as he passed the roll to Sara. They quickly developed a rhythm, passing the plastic back and forth, over and under, around and around until the entire car was completely enshrouded.

"So, who had to work this case?" Sara inquired.

"You." Even with the whole team back together, today had them stretched a little thin.

"Grissom, I'm already ... I mean there is ... can't I...?" She really did not want to go fishing around for evidence in what Catherine had dubbed 'man juice.'

"You can have Greg. Take the front of the car and give him the trunk. Unless you want the trunk."

"He's going to love this." She was relieved that she wouldn't have to do the worst of it. She didn't think she could smile big enough to suppress her gag reflex.

"It's a time honored tradition to give newbies the dirtiest jobs."

"What did you have to do when you started as a CSI?" Sara couldn't help asking.

"You don't want to know."

"Come on, Griss. Tell me."

"Have you thought about Friday?"

"What?" Thrown by the sudden change in conversation, it took her a minute to figure out what he was talking about.

"The Renaissance exhibit."

"Yes, I have. I..."

"The tow truck is here. You guys ready to head back to the lab?" Sophia queried. Grissom picked up his case and followed the two women to the SUV. Call it fate, timing, or The Powers That Be; someone was against him asking Sara on a date.

II

"Can we talk?" When Warrick gestured at the plain gold band on his finger, Catherine wanted to shake her head and continue with her analysis of the crime scene. She's already done that once today, though, and she can't do it to him again. Whatever else has happened, he's a friend. She couldn't avoid him any longer.

"Sure." She had to force herself to turn away from the table and give him her full attention. When he spoke of Nick, and life being short, she understood completely what he meant. If there was anyone who knew what it's like to live in the moment, it was Catherine. When she said that she was happy for him, she genuinely meant it. He deserved happiness, and someone to go home to at the end of shift.

"It also feels like you're not so happy for me." From someone else she might have been able to hide her true feelings, but not him. Maybe it was the fact that they both grew up in Vegas and were never blinded by the sparkle, but he understood her in ways that no one else did. It was one of the reasons that she had harbored the dream that someday they might be more than friends and coworkers.

"Warrick..." she took her time, searching for the right words. She owed him the truth. "You know, the thing that makes a fantasy great is the possibility that it might come true. And when you lose that possibility ... it just kind of sucks."

Without giving him a chance to respond, she returned to the aerial photo and wrote down the names of the cross streets on a pad of paper. Ripping the top sheet away, she muttered an excuse and left the room. Warrick rubbed the back of his ring with his thumb as he watched her leave.

Catherine stared the piece of paper in her hand as she walked down the hall, using it as a shield to keep from making eye contact with anyone. Her ruse worked until she rounded the hallway corner and ran straight into Jim Brass.

"Where's the fire?" he asked as he kept her from falling with a hand under her elbow.

"Sorry, Jim. I wasn't looking where I was going." It only took a glance to tell that it was something more than that, but Brass decided not to ask. If Catherine wanted to share, she would. "So, what has you in such a hurry that you're flying around corners and knocking poor defenseless people down?"

"I did not knock you down. Nor would anyone consider you defenseless." Calmer now, Catherine remembered the address she had written down. "Actually, I could use your help. Could you look up a location for me?"

"Certainly," Brass agreed. Nevermind that he had actually been on his way to an interview. The suspect could cool his jets for a few more minutes. "Let's go into my office." Side by side, they walked down the hall.

II

If Greg hadn't stopped at his office doorway to ask for a ride, Grissom probably would have forgotten about his promise to join Nick and Warrick for breakfast. In truth, he wasn't sure if he was ready to see Nick so soon after listening to the recovered audiotape. He felt as if the words he listened to repeatedly were now tattooed on his skin, and Nick would only have to look at him to know the truth. Walter Gordon had an accomplice; someone alive and walking around town.

"I have a few things to finish up. You should find someone else." With a nod Greg agreed, and disappeared down the hallway. Grissom stared at the pile of paperwork, and contemplated 'forgetting' about breakfast again.

"Are you coming?"

"Greg, I said that I..." Grissom looked up from his doorway and found Sara grinning at him.

"I know it's been a long shift, but I hope I don't look that bad," she joked.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I was lost in thought. Greg was here a minute ago, and I thought he had come back."

"Greg caught a ride with Brass. I was on my way to join them."

"You're going to breakfast?" He didn't know why he was surprised, but he was.

"Wouldn't miss it. How often do you get to celebrate the marriage of a friend? Plus, it's been too long since we've done breakfast as a team."

"It has been." Taking a deep breath, Grissom tried to push away his dark thoughts. Sara was right. Today was about celebrating. Warrick and the team deserved it, and he could pretend for a few hours that everything was good. Locking his desk drawer and ignoring the paperwork that was piled too high, Grissom joined Sara at the open doorway. He was about to walk past her when she stopped him with two fingers pressed gently against his upper arm.

"So, this thing on Friday; what time should I be ready?"

"Seven," Grissom replied without pausing. Sara smiled at him and he returned the grin. It looked like he wouldn't have to pretend to celebrate after all.

II

"Lindsey, I'm home." Catherine set her purse down on the table next to the door and slid out of her shoes. It had been one hell of a shift, both physically and emotionally. She had been glad of the excuse of taking her daughter to school to avoid the invitation of breakfast with the rest of the crew. It would have been too much, too soon.

"Linds, are you almost ready for school?" Carrying her shoes in her hand, she almost walked past the living room when a movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to find her daughter on the couch. She wasn't alone. Sitting on the couch, she was lip locked with a boy Catherine had never seen before.

"Interesting method of studying," Catherine remarked sarcastically.

"Mom." Lindsey untangled herself quickly. "I thought you'd be at work until later."

"Clearly."

"Yo, babe. I've gotta go. Catch you later, 'kay." A kiss to the cheek and the mystery boy was gone.

"Who is that, Lindsey? I haven't seen him around school." She struggled to keep her voice even, and her temper in cheek. She had made it very clear that there were to be no boys in the house when no adult was home. She wasn't naive enough to believe that Lindsey wouldn't break some rules, but this was too much.

"_He doesn't go to school_," Lindsey muttered.

"What?" He had looked a little older then Lindsey, but not that old.

"He doesn't go to school," Lindsey repeated. "He graduated in June."

"He what?" Catherine exclaimed.

"He graduated from school..."

"Yeah, I caught that part. What are you doing dating a guy who's already out of school? You just turned fourteen."

"We're not dating. Not really. We're just hanging out."

"Just hanging out? You were sitting in an empty house, playing tonsil hockey with a guy. That's not just hanging out. Where did you met this guy?'

"He's not 'this guy.' He has a name, you know. It's Frankie."

"Okay, how did you meet Frankie?"

"He's a friend of Jamie's brother."

"Jamie's brother, the dealer at the Palms?" She didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes."

"And does that mean that Frankie is also a dealer at the Palms?" This was sounding worse and worse.

"No. He's not eighteen for a couple more months. Right now he's a runner." Catherine rubbed her hand across her forehead.

"I don't like that. I want you to stop seeing him."

"Well that's too bad, because I'm not going to," Lindsey shouted as she ran out of the room and down the hallway.

"Yes, you will," Catherine followed her down the hall.

"I'll see who ever I damn well want to, and there's nothing you can do about it." Lindsey slammed the door of her bedroom behind her. Catherine reopened the door and stormed into the room.

"Not while you live under my roof. You are my daughter and if I say you can't see him, then that's it."

"I don't care what you say. I will see him."

"He's not good for you, Linds. Among other things, he's too old. Four years is a huge difference at your age," Catherine lectured.

"Yeah, like you're any kind of character judge. What happened to the last guys you've dated?" Catherine winced as Lindsey threw out the accusation. Her dating record was anything but stellar, and she already felt a little hypocritical without Lindsey's reminder.

"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you, and I'm telling you that you are not to see Frankie again." Leaving the room, Catherine closed the door behind her and crossed the hall into her own room. Sinking onto the bed, she let her head fall into her hands. What was she going to do?


End file.
